On Friday, March 19, 2004
he dreamt that Freddy Krueger followed him home from a folk dance in the basement of the Methodist Church on University Ave. His dream took the geography of Madison and amalgamated it with Merrill, so that the campus buildings on University were replaced with the old homes and well kept lawns of Merrill's residential neighborhoods, say, Sixth Street. Somehow, Pete, found a hunting rifle with three cartridges in the clip, and stalked his way from backyard to backyard, always on the lookout for Freddy Krueger, staying low to the bushes and darting across open yards. He finally made it home, and locked himself in the attic with the rifle, when Freddy called Pete's cell phone.

"You think you're pretty clever, don't you?" Freddy's voice was sinister, threatening hiss. "You and that hunting rifle. Didn't see you on the streets; must have taken the back route." Freddy started laughing, until Pete realized the laughing wasn't coming from the phone, but from behind him. He turned and fired. A flash of steel. Some red and black. Colors bleeding into one another. Fear. Silence. A face. Someone crying. That was all.